


They Were Uncertain Times

by Rose_Rassmusen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Omegaverse, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Rassmusen/pseuds/Rose_Rassmusen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Moran-Moriarty has grown up knowing that her alpha father left them behind. She'd been left helpless as a child with her remaining parent less than stable, and throughout her life, he's taken steps to prevent that from happening again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How to title????????  
> Anyway, sucky title. Sorry. Omegaverse plays a part in this, but not a large one. There will be no heats (yet) but a lot of angsty good Mormor action. Also, there will be action in the later chapters.

Samantha Moriarty poked her head into her father's room, holding onto the edge of the door. "Dad?" she called into the room lightly, to see if he was awake. There was no sign of him in the room at all. She stepped inside, pushing the door open easily. Her father oiled the hinges once a month, so they swung without resistance. A note was taped to the headboard and Samantha glanced cautiously around the room, checking for her father in any of the hidden crevices. She could faintly smell his unique scent, though it was dull. He hadn't been in the room for hours.  
He had started taking pheromone reducers when he had began working for Samantha's namesake, but to her trained and accustomed nose, it was as clear as day everything he had touched. Taking another glance -he wasn't known to be predictable- she stepped toward the bed. 

It was dimly lit in the room, as it always was, and the bed was neatly made, again, as it always was. Samantha could hardly remember a time in her life that her father had neglected to straighten the sheets, tuck in the corners, and fluff the pillows. He was a bit obsessive about order. 

She walked slowly to the bed, and when she deemed it trap-free, she carefully removed the note from the headboard. 

Find me. -SM

The handwriting was definitely her father’s, but something was off. It was rushed, not like he usually wrote. These training exercises were nothing new, they had been doing things like this to keep Samantha on her toes since she was little. As soon as she knew how to walk, he had been doing things like this, leaving a note, or telling her verbally, then hiding somewhere in the city. It had started with behind a door, or in a room he wouldn't usually be in, but it gradually progressed into a hyped up version of hide and seek, spanning all of London. She never failed to find him. He never gave her any rules, but they were unsaid. It would be somewhere they had visited the week before. 

Leaving the strange circumstances of the writing behind, Samantha stepped out of the room, folding the paper and placing it in her pocket while she went through a list of all the places she had been with him the week previous. 

Samantha had been gifted with a wonderful memory, something her father accounted to her other one. It wasn't often he spoke of her namesake, and she could tell it was painful for him. She didn't remember much of him -he had died shortly after she was born- but she knew her father had loved him very much. When an Omega loses their bonded Alpha, it could be heartbreaking, but Samantha’s father had told her, the reason he hadn't gave up completely was so he could see her grow up. She hadn't understood that until she had been told the circumstances of her birth. She knew her father’s status was dangerous, and she knew why they were doing this. It was so what happened to her when she was a baby didn’t happen again.

Samantha pushed open the door to her bedroom and flicked on the light, casting a bright light around the room. She squinted against the glare and pushed the dimmer down a bit, adjusting to her eyes. Her room was very sparsely decorated, at least compared to other 16-year-old girls. No pictures of ‘hunky’ models, or needless amounts of makeup. She had a delicate looking vanity against the wall, a bulky dresser, and a wooden desk in the corner, as well as her laptop, her bed against the other wall, and heavy black curtains. There were pictures on her desk and dresser, each and every one of her and her father. She had inherited his sharp emerald green eyes, but other than that, everything else had been from her other father. She had a lithe frame, and delicate features, black wavy hair that cascaded over her shoulders and brushed her waist, and the mind-frame of someone determined to win. She always had a soft spot for games like this one, but her favorite was ‘William Tell’. She smiled, looking in the mirror and remembering how her father had always told her how much she was like her late father. Inquisitive, demanding, and clever as the devil.

She walked over to the curtains and released them, letting them fall together, providing complete isolation from the outside world. She shed her light dress shirt and plaid skirt, picking up the uniform from off the floor and tossing it into the hamper next to the door. She would wash it when she got back. She opened her bottom drawer and pulled out a pair of black jeans, Slipping them on easily and working them over her genitals. Both her fathers had been wanting an Alpha, but she had not quite been the ideal package. Yes, she was alpha, but she hadn't been a boy. It wasn't like her father loved her less because of her gender, but it would be harder for her to make it in his world as a woman, even as an alpha.

Grabbing a black t-shirt from the top drawer, she slid it over her head and pulled it down before running her hands behind her neck and pulling her hair off her back. She had straightened it for school that morning, so it was smooth and flat, making it easier for her to pin it up in a tight bun at the back of her head. She leaned over the vanity and picked up a few hairpins, securing her long black hair off her shoulders and out of her way. She picked up an eyeliner pencil and quickly applied it to her top and bottom lids on either side.

Samantha walked over to the door and locked it. She opened up her closet and gazed at the picture on the inside wall. It was one of the only ones with her, and both her dads. She was a tiny baby in their arms. Her father really looked like hell. Well, he would have, having just given birth to her. She had coaxed a copy from her father when she was ten and he let her keep it hung in the closet so he wouldn’t be reminded of the dead Alpha all the time. 

Samantha carefully took the large framed photograph off the wall. Behind it was a small safe with a keypad. She set the picture down gently and leaned it up against the wall. Her father had installed the safe on her fourteenth birthday, since she had insisted she needed one. She keyed in the code quickly. ‘0115’ The safe clicked open and Samantha swung the door outwards. 

There were three shelves on the inside, all holding Samantha’s most prized possessions. Several handguns rested on the top shelf, their respective silencers on the center shelf, and bags of ammunition on the bottom shelf. Each bag was labeled with sharpie, either ‘blank’ or ‘live’. There were more blanks in there than there were live rounds, but that was only because Samantha had just gone to target practice the day before. 

From the tender age of five she had started holding guns. The first time she had touched one of her dad’s guns was right before one of his trips. He had all those shiny metal things out on the bed and Samantha could simply not help herself. She climbed up on her father’s bed when he wasn't looking and touched one of them, just to feel what it was like. He saw her and calmly removed the rifle from her delicate hands. He never scolded her, never raised his voice at her, just gave the small five year old a small lecture on how “Daddy’s tools were not toys.” and should be respected. 

She was nine when she fired her first live round, from a Taurus 617, on a trip her father took her on. She remembered the feel of the kickback, the blinding flash and most importantly, the sight of watching bark fly off the tree as the bullet collided with soft wood. She had worn safety glasses, ear muffs, and had her father kneeling behind her as he steadied her hands, but it was the most frightening experience in her short life, and it was the most tremendous feeling she had ever felt.

At thirteen, Samantha got to pick out her first gun to call her own. Her father had laid out several handguns for her to pick from. It would stay in his safe, but it would be known as ‘hers’. She of course had chosen a ‘Baby eagle’ Jericho 941.

On her fourteenth birthday, her father installed a gun safe in her room, just for her ‘babies’ as she called them. 

In their game of hide and seek, at some point it had become almost like a play. Samantha was a hunter, her father was the prey. She reached for her current favorite gun, a Beretta 92, and it’s respective silencer. She loaded it with blanks and sealed the safe, replacing the picture as she held the gun in one hand. Before shutting the closet, she grabbed a large purse, big enough to fit the gun and silencer without it poking out. 

Samantha turned the light off in her room and unlocked the door, slipping out and down the hallway in a matter of seconds. She grabbed her soft black jacket off the dining room table and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her head. Somewhere they had been the week before... she knew exactly where he was. 

Samantha grinned and slung her bag over her shoulder. Her wallet was already in the bag, as well as her phone and keys. moving quickly, she left, locking the door tightly behind her. She ran quickly down the stairs and out the door, stepping out onto the midnight London streets. She hailed a passing cab, and when it didn't stop, she frowned, but tried again. The second cab slowed to a stop and Samantha pulled the door open and slid into the seat. She politely gave the cabbie the address, sitting back and watching the buildings go by with bored disinterest. 

That was another thing she had in common with her late father. According to her dad, he had been easy to bore, if something wasn't going on at that exact moment, he would absolutely go stir crazy. It was what ultimately led to his death. As she watched the blocks count down, she was beginning to get impatient. Samantha asked the driver to go a twinge faster, the streets were almost empty at this time of night, but he replied that he was not going to break the speed limit. She rolled her eyes and noted to herself not to give him a tip. after a while, he stopped again and Samantha handed him her debit card after he mentioned he could take them. The name on the card was Olivia Sanders, and he took it without a problem, sliding it into the machine before handing it back to Samantha. 

She got out and looked up at the old hospital for a moment, respecting its place in her life. Last week was the anniversary of her second father's suicide, and her father had taken her to the site upon constant bribery attempts. If she knew him, he would be on the roof.

The fire escape was on the left side of the building, slightly rusty from years of misuse. She hardly needed a running start before jumping straight up and catching the ladder. Samantha pulled it down using her body weight and gravity, before making sure her bag was secure and starting to climb. She went slowly, as not to alert her father.

On the top level before the roof, Samantha paused, taking her gun out of the bag and turning the safety off. She went up the rest of the stairs slowly and carefully, making sure not to be too heavy with her footfall. She poked her head over the edge and saw a figure, facing away from her, sitting on the edge of the building with his feet hanging over the edge.

Without a second thought, she gracefully climbed over the edge of the building and landed softly on the concrete. She stepped forward with her gun in front of her, soft gray moccasins letting her glide soundlessly on the pavement. She came up behind the man, pressing the mussel of the silencer against the back of his neck. She noted how different he was to her father, his hair darker, and his frame smaller. 

"Who are you?" she asked, pulling off a fake Russian accent with practiced ease.

The man didn't turn, just merely tilted his head up in acknowledgement. "Oh, no one special. Who are _you_ young lady?" he sounded amused, a reaction Samantha was not expecting. She hesitated a moment before answering. 

"Olivia Nightingale." she kept the gun pressed firmly against his neck. "Now answer the question." the man on the ledge merely laughed, his body shaking slightly as a wide, crazy grin spread itself out on his face.

"No you're not, tell me your real name." he sounded a bit irish, but he pressed the r's a bit differently, and had a low, enticing tone to it that sent involuntary goosebumps up Samantha's arms. 

She paused again, wondering how he knew and pondered giving him a different fake name. Ultimately she decided it could do no harm. "Moriarty." she said simply, refusing to give a first name. In London, the name held power, and she knew anyone on the other end of their gun was bound to be frightened at the name, at least a bit. "Now you."

He ignored her question again and tilted his head farther up, trying to get a glimpse of her face. "Moriarty? Well then, the name must have become more popular. So tell me, what are you doing up here this late? A young woman such as yourself should be safe at home, don't you agree?" 

"I believe we have as much a right as men to be out at night, armed or otherwise. Anyone who can't protect themselves deserves whatever they get." why was she answering him? She didn't have to, but the tone in his voice.. it was ominous and frightening. And she was the one with the gun! She paused and pressed the gun harder, her finger wrapping around the trigger. At this close of range one thing was certain. It wouldn't kill him, just scare him off the edge. "Now answer my question, or I will lodge a bullet in your spine. Who. Are. You." he seemed to smile, finally turning his head to look at Samantha. 

"Jim Moriarty."


	2. Fight Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence, violence, and more violence.

Samantha frowned. "Jim Moriarty is dead. He shot himself on this very roof fourteen years ago, and you are disgusting for disrespecting his name." She growled deep in her throat, a sound only an alpha could produce. How dare he? "Now, who are you?"

He grinned. "You really believe that? I wouldn't die that easy!" he chuckled at the growl. This girl was familiar, if only in scent. She reminded him of someone, long ago... The gun at his neck was uncomfortable, to say the least, but he needed to show this girl he wasn't afraid, if anything, he was enjoying this. It had been far too long since he went toe-to-toe with someone, far too long indeed. 

"Yes, I do. Jim Moriarty is dead and that is that. He killed himself, leaving his mate and two year old daughter alone!" Samantha fought the bubbling anger and mostly failed, her accent breaking for a few moments as she felt a twinge of rage at this man.

He seemed to sober up a bit, the grin disappearing. "Who are you to judge what I did?" he said coolly, not failing to notice the crack in her voice. No one knew who his mate was, or about his daughter, but somehow, this girl using his name knew both those pieces of information. 

Samantha didn't even pause, her finger tightening. She suddenly wished she had loaded the gun with real bullets. "Who are you to defend him?!"

A voice from behind her jerked her out of her rage. "Samantha?" Her father's voice sounded from behind her. 

"Dad?" she stepped aside, taking the gun away from the man's neck. The man on the ledge turned around fully at the sound of her father's voice. 

"Sebastian?" he said in disbelief, turning himself to face the tall, muscular blonde. 

He stared back with the same amount of disbelief. "Jim?"

Samantha looked from her father back to the man. For the first time, she got a good look at his face. She widened her eyes. 

Over fourteen years, her father had hardly changed at all. He still had the mischievous gleam in his eyes, his hair was as black as it always had been, his suit just as clean and straight as the day he died, though it was a different one. In the picture in her closet, he had been smiling, as if nothing mattered, save for the bundle of blankets in his and Sebastian’s arms. Now, however, he was staring straight past Samantha and at Sebastian, his eyes full of pain and love.

He turned slowly to place his feet one the concrete roof, facing Seb completely. “Tiger.” He said softly, his voice wavering just the tiniest amount. “You got old.”

“And you’re supposed to be dead.” Seb took a step closer. Samantha felt very much ignored.

“Who do you think has been running around Asia strengthening our empire? certainly not Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m here too.” And all of a sudden she remembered why she was so much like her father -the apparently not dead one. “It’s not just you two, so stop staring at eachother like you’re the only ones around.”

Jim let out a laugh. “Goodness, you’re just impatient, aren’t you. Just like me.”

“No thanks to you.” 

Jim frowned at her. “Watch your tongue, or I’ll cut it off.” The stern look didn’t stay long, and Samantha though he might just be kidding, that is until he spoke again. “Then you can /really/ watch it!” He laughed hysterically and a concerned look flashed over Sebastian’s face. Samantha took a precautionary step back, lifting the gun a bit if only for the faux impression it gave.

"Jimmy, have you been taking your medication?" Sebastian looked worried, like Jim might snap, and took another step towards Samantha, as the girl took a step back. 

On the ledge, Jim turned towards them, swinging his feet over the concrete edge. “Oh please. I haven’t needed that for years!” He laughed and grinned at Samantha.

Samantha retreated to behind her omega father, still holding the gun. He placed himself in front of her, as if protecting her from the man on the ledge. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sebby doll.” Jim whined, standing up. “I’m still your Jimmy.” 

Sebastian tilted his head towards Samantha. “Sam, I want you to leave now. Hand me your gun and go home.”

The alpha girl gave him a serious glare and hesitated before carefully handing the loaded gun to her omega father, taking a step back while keeping her eyes on Jim the entire time. “If you don’t come back, I’m hunting him down and killing him, father or not.”

With that parting line, Sebastian and Jim were alone. The alpha stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets as Sebastian flicked the safety back on on the gun and shoved it between his jeans and his back, pulling his shirt over it. 

"It's been a long time, tiger." Jim purred, sauntering closer, nonchalantly breathing in Sebastian's scent, heavily masked with suppressants and alpha body wash. "Our girl is all grown up."

"Mine. She's my child." Sebastian growled at Jim, wanting nothing more than to kneel at Jim's feet and submit to his long lost mate. He had to be the parent, though, knowing that Samantha would not take it well if her father suddenly became a spineless puddle of omega hormones. "Not yours." 

Jim clucked his tongue and placed a hand on Sebastian's hip, Standing on the toes of his expensive shoes to be eye to eye with the sniper. "You've forgotten your place, puss." He grinned and dug his fingers hard into Seb's hip, growling low in his throat. 

Sebastian breathed out a small sound, his body and mind fighting each other. He wanted to submit. To roll over and be a good omega, begging for his alpha to pretty please come home. At the same time, he wanted to dominate Jim, show him how hard the past fourteen years had been, raising a headstrong alpha child all alone with no backup or support. The latter part won and Seb pushed Jim back to the ledge, grabbing the front of his shirt. "My place" He growled, shoving Jim so the only thing keeping him upright was Seb's hand, "Has changed. You died and gave complete control over the empire to me. It's been a long time, Jim. Most employees don't even remember you, or know about you beyond your bloody ridiculous game with Sherlock fucking Holmes!" The look on Jim's face was priceless, and if Sebastian hadn't been so angry he might have stopped to take a picture. Jim had not expected his pet to reject him this strongly. "What makes you think that I would just hand back control so easily?" 

Back on the pavement, Samantha had started walking home, foregoing the cab for some time to think. She nabbed a coffee from a 24 hour starbucks and took mostly back alleys, daring some idiot alpha to try to mug her. The fighting rings were always a way to get her mind off things, but on a night like this, Sebastian would be upset if she got lost or didn't check in. But he had pissed her off, so she was gonna return the favor. Sod the consequences.

Tossing her half-empty coffee into a nearby trash bin, she paused to gather herself before seeking out the nearest ring, one that her father had ran, and taken her to, since she was old enough to learn how to fight. She always went with an alias when she fought, different one every time, but Pete, the owner of this particular club, knew who she was. He always called her his 'prize winning stud' like she was some kind of horse, but she didn't care. He was a nice enough fellow and knew his boundaries well. 

It was convenient that she was in her training clothes, because she was planning on getting someone bloody tonight. The front of "The Black Shamrock" was a normal enough pub, family run, owned of course by Sebastian Moran-Moriarty, but if one asked for the right person, the back room suddenly became an alpha oasis. The scent of blood tinged the air and Samantha could feel the men's eyes on her, most of them too drunk or too stupid to tell she was also an alpha. They were about to find out soon enough just what she was capable of. 

While the other alphas were busy ogling, Samantha found Pete in his normal spot, a raised platform about a foot off the floor. He greeted her with a warm smile and a firm handshake as she grinned at him, feeling comforted by the closest person she had gotten to an Alpha figure in her life.   
"Sammy!" He grinned against her ear, bringing her in close as she listened for tonight's fighters. "Okay, first things first, who are you tonight, baby doll?"   
Sam hardly missed a beat. "Max." she told him quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the fighting alphas and the ones cheering them on. Coming up with aliases was one of the easier parts.   
Pete chuckled and gave a nod. "Alright. Should I put you in the next fight?" Samantha kissed his cheek and smiled at him like a niece to an uncle. "Take it as a yes." The pair smiled and Samantha busied herself with getting ready, taping her knuckles for support and going into the green room to stretch out and do some practice jabs. There was no chance of her losing, but she wanted to give herself the best advantage. After the alphas were done fighting, one of Pete's sons climbed up in the makeshift ring to announce the next fighters. Samantha was more than ready when her alias was called. She sprang up into the ring, hovering with her arms by her side, fists clenched. She eluded the air of a rookie, inexperienced and way over her head. Facing an alpha twice her size, no one except Pete and his sons would bet on her. 

Like the worst of her fathers, she loved the fighting rings, and more, she loved to hustle. The look of the crowd when they lost their money and the triumphant roars of those who had seen her fight before. It was like a drug to her. 

The son stepped out of the center, the sign to start. No one at this fighting ring had a coach or a trainer. They just used techniques learned from previous fights and hoped the other person wasnt better than them. Samantha had a personal trainer that spent every free moment with her, a plethora of different fighting styles to incorporate, and the certainty that she was going to win no matter what. So when the hulking alpha came towards her, Samantha dodged him. He was all muscle and forward momentum, and she could use that against him. Only two rules at Pete's rink. No biting and no outside objects. Samantha wouldn't need either. She slipped under his punch as he threw all his weight behind it and got behind him quickly, seeing in the way he turned his head that he was probably hard of hearing in his right ear, since he turned to his left instead. She jabbed him in the kidney quickly, just to agitate him and waited for him to turn around and try again. 

Samantha waited for him to turn around and slipped behind him again, this time battering his right side with punches as he turned left out of habit. They continued the dance of attack, wait, miss, attack until Samantha saw an opening of where he had let his guard down, expecting her next move. As he turned his head right, Samantha threw all of her weight into a bone-crunching punch to the jaw, dancing away as he roared in pain and spat out blood. Breaking her silence for the sake of a comeback, Samantha laughed. "Left handed, fucker!" She teased (and lied). He broke the pattern and started going for her chest, making it harder for Samantha to dodge until his jaw injury started getting to him. It was fractured at least, maybe broken. He dropped his guard for the second time as Samantha let hers down, trusting that the maneuver would work. She swung a weak punch toward his right jaw and when he went to protect himself, she switched directions and pivoted her hips, throwing another full-body punch at his left cheekbone, the taped knuckles helping with the pain on her end. She felt the crunch of bone and realized she had missed by a little, getting the base of his nose and eye-socket. Blood poured out of his mouth and nose and until he would surrender, Samantha kept battering his face, working around his arms when he tried to guard. She heard him shouting "Stop! Stop!" from behind his arms and she stood back, her hands up in victory. She climbed down from the ring with a victorious smirk and let the post-fight adrenaline wash over her. She cleaned up a bit and gave Pete a goodbye hug, heading off home and hoping that Jim and Sebastian were not there yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points to anyone who can guess the significance of 0115 (I might write you a drabble!)


End file.
